Tiny Stalker

Morning and night, whether doing my rounds, cleaning cabins or flinging hay and horse manure, I was followed by The Stalker.

“Cats don’t need to be possessed; they’re evil on their own.”​—Peter Kreeft

I survived my first weeks pulling solo duty as a Winter Caretaker for some regional wilderness camps. I’m happy to report that in such isolated settings, I have not yet been torn to pieces by wild animals. I am rotating through three beautiful mountain properties, and I am privileged to be able to work and write in such scenic locales.

At the start of Week Two, I had my first encounter with wildlife, a barn cat named June Bug. That day, long afternoon shadows were soon to give way to dusk on the forested grounds of Emerald Valley Ranch. The last of the sunlight on Gray Back Peak to the south reminded me of the golden-orange alpenglow I often see on mountain summits when I start my trail hiking early mornings. Here she came, casting her own long, ominous shadow. Sure, to some she would appear cute and innocent. But a closer look revealed the face of a determined predator. If she wasn’t so diminutive, I’m sure I’d be dinner.

Watching me around every turn

They can be sweet companions, curious, playful and funny … until they make their plans and turn on you.

Obviously, her goal was to drive me insane, kill me somehow (she’s still devising a plan in her dark, little Cat Cave), and eat me one tiny cat bite a time.

I can’t say I dislike cats (okay, maybe a little bit), but typically I keep my distance. In full disclosure, I am highly allergic to the little felines. I learned this early on in life by putting precious, fuzzy kittens up near my young face, only to suffer two days’ worth of violent sneezing and viewing the world through watery, swollen-shut eyes. In my encounters with cats through the years, it seems as though they can smell my fear and are attracted to me like catnip. I’d keep my eye on this one—a cat so eager, when guests are at the ranch, to uncharacteristically avail herself of people’s food or their cabin pillows in the evenings.

Morning and night, whether doing my rounds, cleaning cabins or flinging hay and horse manure, I was followed by The Stalker. I would turn a corner walking outside, and there she’d be, watching me from behind a post. I’d be sweeping or mopping inside a building, and I’d hear her mewing, trying to draw me out. I’d see cat prints in the snow leading back to my caretaker cabin. Obviously, her goal was to drive me insane, kill me somehow (she’s still devising a plan in her dark, little Cat Cave), and eat me one tiny cat bite at a time.

Lest I sound paranoid and unreasonable, in my defense, I recently read a revealing (and not surprising to me) article about Felis catus in USA Today, referencing a study in the Journal of Comparative Psychology. Sure, cat lovers think of little Mittens as cute and cuddly, but research shows domestic house cats to be neurotic, suspicious, unstable and aggressive toward humans, sharing similar characteristics with wildcats like tigers, cheetahs and lions. The study from the University of Edinburgh in Scotland and the Bronx Zoo in New York concluded that if your cat was larger, it would probably consider killing you. We have invited little predators into our homes, and they can be sweet companions, curious, playful and impulsively funny… until they make their plans and turn on you.

Each week I’m back at this ranch, I will stay alert and document what I see. Should I not come off the mountain on time, paw prints linked to foul play will be found everywhere in the snow. Look for cat puke and fur balls on my decaying body.